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BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST 


MARIE  NELSON  LEE 


BY 
SPECIAL   REQUEST 

MARIE  NELSON  LEE 


Published  by 

THE  YOUTHLAND   PRESS 

No.  31   West  Carrilo  Street 
Santa  Barbara,  California 


Copyright  1921 

by 

MARIE  NELSON  LEE 
Los  Angeles 


INTRODUCTION 

Such  are  friends — they  will  endure 
E'en  to  read  my  verses  o'er 
And  ask  to  have  their  choice  reprinted- 
( Requestors'  names  in  index  hinted). 


482T8S 


in 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

Requested  by  Page  No. 

A  CLIMATIC  CULMINATION     .    Jim 58 

ABBY  LOUISE Frances  B \2 

A  HOUSEHOLD  GOD    ....  '( Loving  Neffew"  Mary  13 

AN  ARTLESS  PARVENUE  .     .     .     Fred  G 36 

A  PRAYER Uncle  Strong    ...  35 

A  THANK  YE  MA'AM    .     .     .  Mother  Lee  ....  52 

AUTUMN'S  SNAP  SHOTS  .     .     .    Jack  L 56 

ECSTACY Beatrice 20 

FORCE  OF  HABIT Leota 41 

GARDENS  AND  SPRING     .     .     .     Thomas 34 

HE Page 32 

His  PHILOSOPHY Pruella  Janet    ...  48 

IN  MOTHER'S  EYES    ....     Helen 31 

IN  THE  SHIP'S  HOLD  ....     Robert 39 

IN  CALIFORNIA Mary  belle     ....     7 

INSOMNIA Edna        24 

JEST  AROUND  THE  CORNER     .     I.  R 15 

LITTLE  DAFFYDILLY    ....  Friend  Leila      ...  42 

MOTHER  ACROSS  THE  SEA    .     .     Frances 25 

MY  ELECTRICAL  FAN      .     .     .     Richard 50 

MY  PROMPTER Isabelle 21 

MY  KIND  o*  GUY Walter 14 

OH,  WOULDST  I  WERT  .     .     .     Penel       43 

PRAYER  TO  THE  WAR  GOD  .     .     Gertrude  1 16 

SPRING  GETS  ME  .  Joel  Art  .                  .51 


[BY   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


Requested  by  Page  No. 

SONG  OF  THE  AIRMAN     .     .     .  Frederick  M.    ...     2 

THE  CANARY  BIRD    ....  Ada     ......  11 

THE  DANDIEST  DAY  ....  Irene   ......  44 

THE  DEAD  LIVING  ROOM    .     .  C.  W  ......  22 

THE  DREAMER  ......  EllaT.W  .....  54 

THE  ONE-YEAR-OLD  LADY      .  Donald    .....  46 

THE  TUNELESS  FIDDLE  .     .     .  Gertrude  II      ...   18 

THE  WAY     .......  "Doss"     .....    9 

WATCHING  FOR  SANTA  GLAUS  Rowland       ....  29 

WHERE  is  THE  OuNCEf      .     .  Adeline    .....  40 

WHO  COMES  OVER  THE  HILL?  Pettingill       ....   10 

YOUNG  MANHOOD  Drusie                         .  28 


VI 


IN  CALIFORNIA 

SURE,  March,  the  sassy,  thieving  jade 
Is  stealing  fair  May's  thunder, 
In  days  that  witch  the  soul  o'  ye 
And  all  yer  worries  plunder. 
The  timorous,  wee  humming  birds 
And  the  bumptuous  bumble-bees 
Are  a  sipping  perfumed  honey 
From  the  blossom  laden  trees. 
The  rollicking,  rover  robin 
And  the  songful  mocking  bird, 
Are  carrolling  the  sweetest  songs 
That  a  body  ever  heard. 

Ye  wanta  loosen  down  yer  hair, 
And  undress  yer  feet  and  rove 
'Cross  a  clover-scented  meadow, 
Thru  a  ferny-scented  grove, 
To  where  a  chatterboxious  brook 
Splashes  over  shining  stones, 
And  gossips  to  the  watercress 
In  low,  unctious  undertones. 
Ye  wanta  linger  on  the  bank 
And  to  feel  the  thrilling  cool 
Of  mossy  earth   along  yer  length, 
As  ye  sprawl  beside  the  pool. 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 

Ye  long  to  smell  the  dank,  sweet  ground 

And  the  spicy  undergrowth. 

Ye  wanta  run — ye  wanta  rest — 

And  to  get  yer  fill  o'  both.*** 

Here  are  pines,  acacias,  peppers 

And  the  eucalypti  tall — 

But  I  miss  young  leaves  in  the  spring 

And  the  gay  leaves  in  the  fall. 

The  petticoated  palms  are  topped 

With  most  fascinating  hoods — 

But  my  very  soul  is  yearning 

For  the  smell  of  Back-East  woods. 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


THE  WAY 

DEEP  in  my  soul  a  still,  small  voice 
Whispered  the  Way  of  Life  to  me, 
But  the  call  of  Youth  was  loud  and  clear, 
My  heart  beat  high  and  I  could  not  hear, 
And  The  Way  I  could  not  see. 

Deep  in  my  soul  the  still,  small  voice 

Cautioned  the  way  of  life  to  me, 
But  the  song  of  Love  was  sweet  and  clear, 
My  blood  surged  high  and  I  did  not  hear, 

And  The  Way  I  did  not  see. 

From  the  depths  of  my  soul  the  silent  voice 

Still  urged  the  way  of  life  to  me, 
But  the  World  called  to  my  eager  ear, 
Ambition  thundered,  I  would  not  hear, 

And  The  Way  refused  to  see. 

The  call  of  Youth  and  of  Love  are  hushed, 

The  call  of  the  World  comes  an  echo  to  me, 
But  the  voice  of  my  soul,  that  seemed  so  small, 
Speaks  clearly  a  message  transcending  all, 
And  The  Way  I  hope  to  see. 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


WHO  COMES  OVER  THE  HILL? 

THE  snowdrop  shyly  lifts  her  head 
Half  afraid  to  stay: 
The  Robin  plumps  his  gaudy  chest 

And  trills  a  rondelay: 
The  Brooklet  bursts  her  icy  bonds 

And  sweeps  the  channel  clear; 
The  Farmer  sloshing  to  the  barn 
Cries,  "Durn  it  all,  she's  here." 


10 


[BY   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


THE  CANARY  BIRD 

YOU  thumbful  of  soft,  yeller  fluff- 
Say,  where'd  you  git  all  that  stuff? 
A  bustin  loose  the  live-long  day, 
Gee,  you  got  a  lot  to  say ! 
Cant  nobody  call  you  quitter. 
Way  et  you  turn  on  that  twitter. 

In  back  uh  them  black  beads  uh  eyes 
You  sure  do  tank  a  big  supprise, 
Yer  body,  not  a  gill-cup  long, 
Holds  a  plum  barrelfula  song. 
Whoopti-doodendoo-young-feller — 
They  gotcha  when  they  tanned  you  yeller. 


11 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


ABBY  LOUISE 

(A  PORTRAIT) 

SILVER  tresses  fluff  like  seafoam  'bove  her  un- 
ribbed  brow: 
Her  warm,   brown,    autumn   eyes   with  youth    and 

springtime  glow, 
And  from  them  radiate  fine  tracings  of  her  happy 

smile. 
Faint  trails  of  experience  'bout  her  upcurved  lips 

beguile 

The  fancy — her  many  charms  enhance — allure 
To  deeper  interest.     Constructive  purpose,  true  and 

sure, 

The  builder's  love  of  life  and  humankind 
Are  hers.     Love  of  truth,   free  speech,  unfettered 

mind ; 
These  and  the  strength  of  soul  to  speak  the  truth 

and  walk  upright, 

Holding  aloft,  for  those  who  scoff,  a  liberating  light. 
Thus  Life,  the  artist  of  the  soul,  does  blend  the  grace 
Of  spirit  with  temporal  beauties  of  her  face. 


12 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


A  HOUSEHOLD  GOD 

OH,  what  do  I  see  on  the  farther  shore 
Of  the  stream  where  the  path  bends  round  the 
hill? 

Oh,  what  do  I  see  thru  the  open  door, 
That  enthralls  my  gaze  against  my  will? 

Oh,  what  do  I  see  but  a  neighbor's  child, 
With  his  hand  in  the  grimy  hand  of  Crime, 
And,  beyond,  where  the  path  skirts  the  Rock  of 

Chance, 
With  his  hourglass  dripping  blood,  stands  Time. 

I  close  the  door  'gainst  the  sight  of  the  child 
Who  walks  with  Crime  on  the  path  of  sin, 
And  thank  MY  god  that  my  dear  son  plays 
With  Ease  and  Comfort  safe  within. 


13 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


MY  KIND  O'  GUY 

rpHEY'S  folks  and  folks  in  this  yere  world 
A       All  kinds,  from  fools  to  silly — 
And  good,  too,  but  they's  one  kind  makes 
A  special  hit  with  Willie. 

Taint  him  that's  shootin  up  the  place 
With  lang-widge  plum  prodijous, 

And  lets  out  guff  bout  everything 
On  earth — likewise  ree-ligious — 

I  hates  them  kind  that's  long  on  gab 

And  sloppyful  o'  learnin — 
The  one  that  makes  a  hit  with  me 

Is  long  on  jest  discernin. 

It's  him  that  savvies  to  a  thing 

And  knos  it  without  bein 
Sure  how  he  knos;  he  sorta  seems 

To  see  it  without  seein. 

He  jest  rides  herd  on  Big  Idees 

And  ropes  em  in  in  bunches — 
Then  keeps  em  in,  and  holds  his  yap 

And  follers  out  his  hunches. 

But  always  in  his  thot  corral 

Them  Big  Idees  keep  brewin, 
And  when  one  does  break  out — aw,  say ! 

Yuh  gotta  hand  it  to  him. 


14 


[By   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


JEST  AROUND  THE  CORNER 

JEST  around  the  corner 
The  street  is  all  a-shine 
With  happy,  yellow,  golden  glows 

A  standin  in  a  line, 
And  the  autumn  air  is  stirrin 

The  leaves  to  music  sweet, 
And  the  mellow,  autumn  sunshine 

Is  a  lightin  up  the  street. 
Blind  and  settin  in  the  shadders 

Where  the  autumn  breeze  blows  chill, 
When  the  children  scamper  past  me, 

I  can  feel  the  sunshine  thrill 
In  their  happy,  eager  voices — 

As  they  turn  the  corner  there 
Some  cub'll  allus  stop  and  push 

Along  my  ol  wheel  chair. 
Leave  my  trouble  in  the  shadders 

And  set  up  straight  an  fine 
When  he  gits  me  round  the  corner 

Where  the  street  is  all  a-shine. 
Seems  like  round  the  corner 

There  is  always  somethin  good, 
When  they's  troubles  hoverin  round  you, 

And  life's  not  understood — 
There  is  always  somethin  cheery 

Like  the  golden  glows  in  line, 
Awaitin  round  the  corner 

Where  the  street  is  all  a-shine. 


15 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


PRAYER  TO  THE  WAR  GOD 

FILL  me  with  thy  spirit,  O  God  of  War, 
That  I  may  encompass  destruction. 

Smite  me  with  the  Hand  of  Power, 
That  I  may  cringe  to  subjection. 

Blind  mine  eyes  with  the  Iron  of  Necessity, 
That  I  may  not  See  Visions. 

Fetter  me  to  the  Treadmill  of  Tradition, 
That  my  feet  walk  not  in  New  Paths. 

Link  with  me  the  Ox  of  Fear, 

That  my  soul  be  consumed  with  Terror. 

Put  upon  me  the  Yoke  of  Hate, 
That  it  may  chafe  me  to  Madness. 

Bind  me  with  the  Thongs  of  Malice, 
That  they  may  fret  me  to  Violence. 

Choke  me  with  the  Clutch  of  Greed, 
That  I  may  spew  Venom. 

Scourge  me  with  the  Whip  of  Scorn, 
That  it  may  inflame  me  to  Fury. 

Sear  me  with  the  Brand  of  Cain, 
That  I  may  be  enraged  to  Murder. 


16 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


Slake  my  thirst  with  Blood  of  Mine  Own, 
That  its  stench  may  enthrall  my  nostrils. 

Prod  me  with  the  Goad  of  Vengeance, 

That  I  may  wrench  from  my  Bonds  and  do  Havoc. 

Give  me  the  Torch  of  Lust, 
That  I  may  blaze  a  Path  to  Hell. 


17 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


THE  TUNELESS  FIDDLE 

PA  he's  awful  fond  of  music, 
Onct  he  bought  a  great,  big  fiddle, 
It's  got  a  long  neck  an  one  laig, 

An  he  plays  it  crost  its  middle. 
Ma  said  such  tricks  she  bet  some  day 

Would  make  Pa  drain  a  bitter  cup, 
He  laft  an  winkt  at  me,  an  says, 

ujes  wait,  ol  girl,  till  I  tune  up." 
Then  he  dresst  up  in  his  best  soot 

An  played,  an  kep  time  with  his  boot — 
But  the  tune  want  nuthin  but  uzoot, 

Zuggity  zoot,  zug  zoot,  zug  zoot." 

Pa  dresses  up  in  his  best  soot 

An  he  packs  that  fiddle  down 
And  plays  to  all  the  movie  shows, 

An  dances,  an  things  in  town. 
His  soot's  an  nawful  checkered  one, 

All  chuncks  uh  white  an  brown. 
Ma  says  you'd  think  he  owned  the  place 

For  more'n  forty  mile  aroun, 
To  see  him  there  tappin  his  boot 

An  smirkin  roun  in  that  best  soot, 
Jes  a  playin  that  same  ol  "zoot, 

Zuggity  zoot,  zug  zoot,  zug  zoot." 


18 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


Ma  dont  never  go  out  with  Pa, 

She's  allus  to  home  a-workin. 
Onct  she  got  mad  an  went  fer  Pa ! 

Gee,  you  otta  seen  her  jerkin 
Tubs  an  things  an  jawin  Pa ! 

Said  he's  too  plum  fond  uh  shirkin, 
An  he  sure  otta  have  more  sense, 

An  not  be  fer  allus  lurkin 
Roun  no-count  shows,  in  that  best  soot, 

Jest  a  plain  nut,  fiddlin  galoot, 
Fiddlin  away  his  time  on  "zoot, 

Zuggity  zoot,  zug  zoot,  zug  zoot." 


19 


[BY   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


ECSTASY 

I  HAVE  brought  children  into  the  world, 
I  have  en-bodied  human  souls, 
Sweet  mouths  have  fed  at  my  young  breasts. 

I  am  linked  eternally  with  youth, 
My  feet  prospect  ascending  paths; 
My  mind  invites  inspiring  scenes; 
No  darkest  hour  can  veil  my  vision, 
Nor  can  Death  rob  me  of  my  glory. 

I  have  brought  children  into  the  world, 
I  have  en-bodied  human  souls, 
Even  now  Life  feeds  at  my  young  breasts, 
And  in  my  arms  Lhold  The  Future. 


20 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


MY  PROMPTER 

'  *  M^^ s'm&  *"  commanc^s  my  iitt:ie  son' 

iN      As  he  creeps  up  in  my  lap, 
And  nestles  his  head  upon  my  breast, 

Prepared  for  a  "dood,  long  nap." 
"Sing  me  sumfin  nice,"  he  pleads, 

As  his  rosy  lips  meet  mine. 
"What  shall  I  sing,  my  little  boy?" 

"Oh,  tails  in  a  waggin  a-hine." 

"Little  Bo  Peep  has  lost  her  sheep — " 

So  oft  the  tale  I've  told, 
I  can  but  wish  those  erst-while  lambs 

Had  never  left  the  fold. 
My  thoughts  go  straying  like  the  sheep, 

I  merely  hum  the  line, 
My  little  son,  as  prompter,  says, 

"Wiv  tails  in  a  waggin  a-hine." 

Over  again  I  sing  the  words 

Of  the  sheep  from  Bo  Peep  fleeting: 
Drooping  lids  close  softly  down 

As  she  "dreamt  she  heard  them  bleating." 
I  kiss  the  eyes  as  I  lay  him  down, 

My  precious  boy  so  fine; 
The  white  lids  quiver — he  murmurs  low, 

"Wiv  tails — in-a-waggin-ahine." 


21 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


THE  DEAD  LIVING  ROOM 

I  AM  alone. 
My  children  have  left  me. 

The  little  apartment  that  squeezed  about  us  so 
tightly  has  expanded  and  grown  cavernous  and 
empty. 

I  no  longer  bump  into  the  furniture.  It  has  shrunk 
into  unaccustomed  order  and  become  pious  and 
strange. 

The  piano  is  asleep.  Its  usual  covering  of  tum 
bled  sheets  of  music  is  ranged  carefully  on  the  cabi 
net,  the  door  of  which  does  not  stand  ajar. 

Everything  is  in  order. 

The  rugs  lie  flat  and  unwrinkled. 

None  of  the  draperies  is  loosened  or  askew. 

The  shades  hang  straight  and  trim  and  at  the 
same  level  across  the  windows. 

On  the  desk  the  blotting  pad  is  unspotted.  Pens 
and  pencils  lie  primly  in  their  little  wooden  grooves. 
Erasers  and  paper  knives  are  properly  placed.  The 
ink  bottles  are  covered. 

The  machine  drawers  are  tightly  closed. 

Shears  and  scissors  hang,  each  pair  on  its  peg,  like 
children's  hats  in  a  school  closet. 

The  colorful  fruit,  piled  high  in  the  basket,  but 
yesterday — it  seems — glowed  a  wanton  invitation  to 
quick  destruction.  Today  it  is  untouched,  precise 
and  virtuous. 

Everything  is  in  order. 

The  morning  paper  is  neatly  folded. 

The  couch  pillows  are  plump  and  undented. 

22 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 

No  finger  prints  blur  the  polished  sides  of  the 
bookcases.  The  books  stand  straight  and  austere 
in  formal,  unfriendly  exactness;  not  one  leans  fa 
miliarly  across  to  hobnob  with  his  neighbor. 

In  the  darning  basket,  the  stockings  do  not  tum 
ble  in  a  vari-colored  heap,  dripping  over  the  edge. 
The  diminished  contents  lie,  compact,  sober-hued, 
and  dignified. 

Everything  is  in  order — 

The  "boys'  table"— 

Two  old  pipes  and  a  half  filled  box  of  tobacco,  a 
writing  pad  on  which  are  a  pencil  sketch  of  a  dog 
and  a  bridge  score — 

The  room  is  suddenly  filled  with  memories  that 
push  me  back  across  the  threshold — 

Tremblingly  I  close  the  door  quickly,  and  stand 
leaning  against  it,  panting  and  with  clenched  hands. 

My  little  sons — 

All  at  once — they  were  men — 

Soldiers!*** 

I  am  alone. 


[Bv   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


INSOMNIA 

INTO  the  mystic  silence  of  the  night 
My  thots  intrude — 

Eager  questioning  thots  of  coming  day, 
Brooding,  over-lapping  thots  of  yesterday 

Prick  my  consciousness 
With  sharp  insistence. 

They  push  against  my  throbbing  eyes 
And  force  the  lids  apart — 

Vainly  I  search  the  black  pocket  of  the  night 
For  keys  to  my  perplexities. 


24 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


MOTHER  ACROSS  THE  SEA 

OH,  friend  of  mine  with  burning  eyes — 
Mother  across  the  sea, 
To  you  my  spirit  has  fared  forth 

In  deep  answering  agony. 
Oh,  friend  of  mine  with  burning  eyes 

On  whose  woe-darkened  soul 
The  brand  of  war  has  left  its  scar, 
I,  too,  in  sons  have  paid  the  toll. 

When  the  world  is  crushed  in  the  grasp  of  greed 

Must  we  ever  stand  passive  by? 
With  war-wracked  hearts  and  heads  meek  bowed 

While  our  sons  and  our  son's  sons  die? 
Shall  arms  of  steel  supplant  our  arms? 

Shall  War  crash  through  the  years 
A  bitter  blight?    Shall  Might  make  right 

This  monstrous  thing  of  fears? 

May  common  grief  in  common  cause 

Bring  mothers  from  afar, 
Together,  in  expanding  love, 

To  rid  the  world  of  war. 
With  hearts  attuned  we  must  impart 

The  truth  to  coming  ones, 
That  Love  of  Race  finds  'biding  place 

In  the  souls  of  the  sons  of  our  sons. 


25 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


SONG  OF  THE  AIRMAN 

OUR  grandcestors  were  pioneers 
And  braved  the  raging  sea, 
In  a  fragile  boat  that  kept  afloat 

But  to  reach  its  destiny. 
No  greater  risk  than  theirs  is  mine, 
My  boat,  wide-winged  and  swift, 
I  navigate  by  grace  of  Fate, 
Fate  kept  theirs,  too,  adrift. 

Air,  air,  air, 

Elixir  beyond  compare! 
I  long  to  be  a  pioneer 
And  help  to  conquer  the  next  frontier, 
The  air,  air,  air. 

Our  grandcestors  were  heirs  to  slaves 

And  grants  of  land  and  sea, 
They  were  heirs  to  greed,  heirs  to  creed, 

Heirs  to  plutocracy. 
They  were  heirs  to  customs  of  bygone  years, 

And  other  antiques  rare, 
But  a  greater  legacy  have  we 

We're  the  heirs  to  the  air. 

Air,  air,  air, 
Elixir  beyond  compare ! 
The  only  thing  left  to  us  that's  free, 
Hail  the  real  Democracy, 
The  air,,  air,  air. 


26 


[By   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


Our  fathers  built  seagoing  ships, 

And  anchored  ships  of  State, 
Towns  born  to  fame  bore  many  a  name 

Of  these  men  good  and  great. 
They  builded  businesses  from  which 

They  built  them  castles  rare, 
But  there  were  none  so  fine  as  mine, 

My  castles  in  the  air. 

Air,  air,  air, 
Elixir  beyond  compare ! 
I'll  steer  my  ship  by  my  lucky  star 
Straight  to  the  place  where  my  castles  are, 
In  the  air,  air,  air. 


27 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


YOUNG  MANHOOD 

THE  Future  opens  to  my  eyes 
My  league  with  human  destinies, 
In  Life's  great  plan  I  hold  my  place, 
A  father  to  the  coming  race. 

I  am  the  mould  of  my  own  son, 
To  him  my  weaknesses  pass  on, 
I  am  his  strength  who  is  to  be, 
His  wealth  of  health  abides  in  me. 

The  action  of  my  heart  will  beat 
The  march  of  progress  for  his  feet; 
My  conscience  makes  his  conscience  kind, 
My  mind  illuminates  his  mind. 

By  my  soul's  vision  will  he  be 
Enchained,  or  happily  walk  free. 
This  be  my  creed  as  I  go  on — 
He  fails  in  all  who  fails  his  son. 


28 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


WATCHING  FOR  SANTA  CLAUS 

A  DOMESTIC  play  in  one  act  and  nine  hundred 
<L\   and  ninety-nine  shivers. 
Scene : — The  hall,  outside  the  nursery  door. 
Time : — Nine  o'clock  Christmas  Eve. 
Discovered  omnes. 

Robert: — (holding  candle.     Whispering.) 

Now  come  on  kids,  dont  be  s  scairt. 

You  all  jes  hold  right  on  to  me. 
Rowland: — Aw,  Gertrude's  fraidl 
Gertrude : —  I  aint  one  bit. 

Rowland: — Y'are.     You're  shakin.     I  kin  see. 
Gertrude : — I  aint  f raid,  I'm  only  cold. 

They's  such  big  shivers  in  this  hall. 

Don's  awful  fraid. 
Donald: —  Not  needer  fraid. 

Not  needer  not  fraid.    Not  fraid  a-tall. 
Rowland: — Go  head,  Rob,  you  got  the  light. 
Robert: — Well,  then  you  ketch  right  hold  uh  me. 
Rowland: — Your  fraid  yourself. 
Robert: —  I  aint,  it's  you 

That's  fraid — jus  fraid  as  you  kin  be. 
Rowland: — I  didn't  say  I  wasn't.     So  ! 

The  rest  you  kids  are  bout  as  fraid. 
Gertrude: — We  wont  see  Santa  Claus  a-tall 

If  you  big  boys  dont  go  ahead. 
Rowland: — Gimme  the  candle.  I'll  go  first. 
Robert: — I  wont.  Don,  hold  to  sister,  see? 
Gertrude: — Shall  I  hold  on  to  Woland,  too? 


29 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 

Robert: — Yes,  Rowl,  you  hold  tight  on  to  me. 

Come  on,  now.    H-s-s-sh !    Cant  you  be 
still? 

Hold  up  your  nightiest  er  y'll  fall ! 
Gertrude  : — Which  way'll  we  go  ? 
Robert: —  Downstairs,  uh  course. 

We  mustn't  make  a  noise  at  all. 
Rowland: — Y'd  better  stop  your  talkin,  then. 

Your  whisprin  makes  a  nawful  noise. 
Donald — I  dint  say  nuffin;  not  no  word. 

Did  I,  Wobbet? 

Gertrude : —  Oh,  hurry  boys ! 

Robert: — Come  on  then — Sh !     Say,  what  was  that? 

Is  that  HIM,  Rowland,  do  you  spose? 
Gertrude : — I  wisht  I  had  my  stockins  on. 
Donald: — I'm  awful  told  wivout  my  tloes. 
Gertrude: — Oh  dear,  I'm  fraid!     Les  go  to  bed. 
Rowland: — If  Gertrude's  fraid,  we  better  had. 

If  Father  comes  an  finds  us  here 

Robert: — I  bet  that  he'd  be  awful  mad. 
Donald : — I  fink  I  heard  a  nuvver  noise. 
Rowland: — So'd  I.     Reindeers,  I'm  almos  sure. 
Donald : — Oh,  Wobbet,  les  us  go  to  bed. 
Gertrude : — I'm  fraid  to  watch  out  here  some  more. 
Robert: — Say,  Rowland,  les  us  take  the  kids 

Both  back  an  put  em  in  their  beds. 

Rowland — Alright — an  go  to  bed  ourselves 

Robert : — Yes,  an  all  cover  up  our  heads ! 
(Exeunt  hurriedly,  nursery  door.) 


30 


[Bv   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


IN  MOTHER'S  EYES 

RIGHT  in  the  windows  of  your  eyes 
I  see  a  fairy,  dear, 
Who  polishes  all  day  to  keep 

The  windows  bright  and  clear. 
And  when,  one  time  I  questioned  her, 

She  bobbed  her  dainty  head, 
And  smiling  like  a  Summer  day, 

"I'm  Mother-love,"  she  said, 
"My  joy  it  is  the  whole  day  thru 

To  keep  the  windows  bright  for  you.' 


31 


[By  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


HE 

HE'S  about  the  stillest  person  a  body  ever  see, 
They  aint  one  single  thing  I  kno  that  he  takes 
after  me. 

The  kids  is  mostly  like  me,  tho,  they're  chatty,  little 

folks. 
HE  shets  his  mouth  with  his  ol  pipe  an  jes  sets  tight 

and  smokes. 

You  otta  watch  him  when  the  kids  they  gits  to  slingin 

,  gaff—  . 

HE'LL  pouch  his  mouth  and  squinch  his  eyes  and 
rub  his  chin  to  laff. 

When  they  gits  fresh  they  never  mind,  no  matter 

what  I  say, 
But  let  HIM  cluck,  er  lift  his  hand,  they  simmer 

right  away. 

Out  in  the  park  on  Sundays,  no  odds  how  big  the 

crowd, 
HE  hushes  all  that  sets  by  him,  his  stillness  is  so  loud. 

And  when  HE'S  gone  away  to  work  his  stillness 

sticks  around, 
Sost  I  go  tiptoe  half  the  time — cant  bear  to  make 

a  sound. 


32 


[Bv   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 

The  hardest  time  of  all  is  when  the  kids  is  gone  to 

bed, 
An  jes  the  clock  a-tickin  is  every  word  that's  said. 

When  I  git  mad  an  jaw,  he  only  clears  his  throat. 
Gee,  I've  listened  to  his  silence  till  it's  kinda  got  my 
goat. 

An  I'm  ketchin  of  it  off  him — sometimes  I've  set  so 

mum 
I've  went  out  and  called  the  cat,  to  find  out  if  I'm 

dum. 

I  spose  my  jawin  this-a-way  aint  no  airthly  sorta  use, 

But  I'd  bottled  up  my  feelins  till  I  hadta  jes  bust 
loose. 


33 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


GARDENS  AND  SPRING 

I  LOVE  a  garden  in  Spring 
Where  the  sweet-laden  apple  boughs  swing, 
Where  the  birds  and  the  bees, 
The  brooks  and  the  breeze, 
And  the  cute  little  Katydids  sing. 
Spring  and  garden  fair, 
Thrilling,  trilling  air, 
Meet  my  true  love  there, 
In  a  garden. 

I  long  for  my  dream  to  come  true 

In  a  garden,  this  Springtime,  I,  too, 

With  the  birds  and  the  bees, 

The  brooks  and  the  trees, 

Would  sing  my  heart's  true  love  to  you. 

Spring  beflowered  and  fair, 

Thrilling,  trilling  air, 

Meet  me,  my  love,  there, 
In  the  garden. 


34 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


A  PRAYER 

MAY  I  meet  them  joyously 
What  e're  Life's  seasons  bring  to  me. 

Joyous  when  the  Spring  flow'rs  nod, 
Shy  hopes  of  youth,  above  the  sod. 

Joyous  when  the  Summer's  sun 
Rides  high,  or  summer's  skies  are  dun. 

Joyous  when  the  Fall  takes  toll 
Of  all  the  gardens  of  my  soul. 

Joyous  meet  the  snows  caress, 
Should  Winter  find  me  shelterless. 


35 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


AN  ARTLESS  PARVENUE 

YES,  I  struck  oil  at  Porter,  bout  three  mile  outa 
town. 
The  little  ranch  I  owned  want  quite  the  poorest  land 

aroun, 
An  when  I  struck  that  gusher  that  spurted  up  sky 


My  land  riz  right  accordin,  to  a  million,  purty  nigh  — 
An  I'm  rich.     Aint  it  cur'us,  I  didn't  kno  what  t 

do? 
Want  no  great  shakes  at  lazin  roun,  with  nuthin  t 

git  thru, 
But  Ma  she  pestered  me  with  style,  an  Bess,  too, 

done  her  part 
An  made  my  life  a  burden  tel  she  went  t  study  art. 

Then  we  went  t  live  at  Denver  an  put  on  heaps  uh 

style. 
Ma  quarreled  with  her  hired  girls,  an  never  cracked 

a  smile. 
It's  strange  how  awful  contrawise  these  money  ques 

tions  are, 
What  y  haint  got  yer  sure  t  want,  an  when  yer  lucky 

star 

Has  riz  up  in  a  oil  well,  an  yer  money's  flowin  in, 
It  brings  sech  trials  you  most  wisht  yer  good  an 

poor  agin. 
I  grinned  an  bore  it  faithful,  swallrin  down  my  achin 

heart 
Tel  Bess  come  home  from  Paree,  where  she'd  ben 

t  study  art. 

36 


[By   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 

Well,  I  slep  up  in  the  attic,  on  a  nice,  clean  straw 

tick, 
An  Ma  she  slep  in  a  buddoor,  so  French  it  made  me 

sick. 
But  Bess  jest  had  t  have  a  "paintin  stoodeo,"  she 

sed, 

So  they  dolled  up  the  attic  an  carted  off  my  bed. 
I  cant  sleep  good  in  Ma's  buddoor,  an  so  I  go  each 

day 
Out  where  I  keep  my  ol  team  an  nap  there  on  the 

hay. 
Now,  I  aint  no  conoozier,  but  Ma  says  et  Bess  paints 

grand, 

An  et  I  dont  "presheate  her,"  an  I  "dont  under 
stand." 

I  hot  all  her  finished  picters,  an  thot  I  done  my  part — 
Oh,  landy  goshen!  how  I  wisht  Bess  hadn't  studied 

Art. 

She  dont  paint  no  scenery, — jest  riddle-de-rinctum 

things — 
Big  gobs  uh  color  plastered  on  twixt  curly-cues,  an 

rings — 
An  crippled  figgers,  all  bulged  up,  with  not  a  stitch 

uh  cloze — 
Not  no  modesty  bout  em,  but  they's  lot  uh  Art,  I 

spose. 

I'd  like  to  have  her  paint  the  place  an  put  in  all  of  us, 
But  I  dont  dast  to  say  so,  for  fear  Ma'd  make  a 

fuss — 
Gad!    I'd  give  more  money  right  now,  t  hug  her  t 

my  heart, 
Than  I'd  give  fer  all  her  paintins  of  futurism  Art. 


37 


[BY   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 

Our  house  aint  what  you  might  call  home,  it's  jest  a 

stoppin  place, 

With  Ma  a-playin  lady,  an  plasterin  her  face, 
An  Bess  a  paintin  horribles  up  in  that  stoodeo, 
An  me  sorta  moonin  roun  with  no  neighbrin  place  t 

go- 
Gad  !     I  jest  cant  help  from  thinkin  uh  how  it  usta 

be 
Out  on  the  ranch,  so  happy-like,  Ma,  an  Bess,  an 

me — 
There  we  worked   an   planned   together,   but  here 

we're  all  apart — 
I  jest  mope  roun,   Ma  puts  on  style,   an  Bess  she 

studies  Art. 


38 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


o, 


IN  THE  SHIP'S  HOLD 

Corporal  of  the  Muleteers, 
What  of  thy  work  today? 


Jerkin  the  "dears"  out  by  the  ears 

And  kickin  em  back  to  stay. 

It's  hustling  dung  up,  rung  by  rung, 

To  the  man  who  stands  on  deck — 

And  hate  him  for  fare,  for  the  breath  of  air 

That  cools  his  turkey  neck. 

It's  cleanin  stalls,  between  the  hauls, 

With  a  hell-howl  if  we  slips, 

That's  somethin  worse  than  the  usual  curse 

That  croaks  from  our  crackin  lips. 

O,  Corporal  of  the  Muleteers, 
Pray  tell  me  of  thy  fare? 

The  mule-smell  beats  us  to  the  eats, 

No  matter  where  they  are. 
We  make  a  bluff  to  eat  the  stuff — 

But,  God,  the  taste  of  it! 
The  seeping  stink,  defiles  our  drink, 

And  we're  too  dry  to  spit. 
The  stench  of  mules  seeks  out  our  souls 

As  we  on  bum  beds  lie — 
We're  soaked  in  mule  from  head  to  heel 

And  we'll  smell  it  till  we  die. 


39 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


WHERE  IS  THE  OUNCE  THAT 
YESTERDAY? 

(A  WEIGHTY  QUESTION) 

WHERE  is  the  ounce  that  yesterday  did  Cyn 
thia  adorn? 

Where  is  that  precious  ounce  of  her  that  is  not  here 
this  morn? 

Last   ounce   of    sixteen   treasured   pounds  —  'twas 

gained  within  the  week — 
But  yesterday  this  elf  did  paint  a  deeper  rose  her 

cheek. 

But  yesterday  a  deeper  grove  did  ring  her  winsome 

wrist, 

And  rounder  were  the  thighs  of  her,  and  arms  with 
dimples  kisst. 

Oh,  big,  wee  ounce  of  Cynthia,  that  topped  her  latest 

pound — 
Come  sage  and  seer  and  tell  me  where  that  lost  ounce 

may  be  found. 


40 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


FORCE  OF  HABIT 

PLEASE,  Dickie,  do,  oh,  Dickie  do 
Forgive  my  grievous  crimes, 
Of  donting  you  and  donting  you 
So  many,  many  times. 

As  I  look  back  it  seems  to  me 
I've  donted  you  from  birth. 

I've  donted  all  your  weeping  times 
And  donted  times  of  mirth. 

I've  donted  little,  harmless  ills 

With  great,  big,  vicious  "DONTS" 

And  donted  many  merry  "wills" 
Into  unhappy  "wonts." 

For  all  this  careless  trespassing 

Upon  the  sacred  ground 
Of  this  your  character  domain, 

I  own  a  grief  profound. 

Most  fervently  I  pray  that  you, 

My  sturdy  Dickie,  wont 
Hold  all  these  donts  against  me — do, 

Please,  dear  Dickie,  dont. 


41 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


LITTLE  DAFFYDILLY 

LOOK  up,  little  daffydilly,  dont  you  be  afraid, 
I  aint  going  to  hurt  you  none,  for  I  am  jest 
a  old  maid, 
A  little  old  maid  with  her  hair  turned  gray, 

Who  onct  had  a  lover,  but  he  was  stole  away; 
And  of  all  the  flowers  I  see  about  me  to  the  left  and 

right, 
I  love  you  best,  cause  you  wert  his  fave-orite. 

Yr  Obt.  Svt, 

PATTY  PRIMROSE. 


42 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


AH!    WOULDSTIWERT 

Ah !  wouldst  I  wert  a  meermaid 
To  skim  through  the  ayzure  see 
To  flipper  flap  my  little  fins 
And  smile  aloud  in  glee. 

Ah !  wouldst  I  wert  a  meermaid 
With  teresses  long  and  crimpt 
To  float  about  my  lingering  form 
Whilst  the  ayzure  see  I  skimpt. 

• 

Anon  would  I  glide  around  myself 
With  menny  a  curling  twist 
But  ah!  I  am  not  a  meermaid; 
What  playsures  I  have  mist. 

Whilst  the  meermaids  skim  the  azyure  see 
And  comb  their  hairs  with  vim 
My  work  a  lass  keeps  me  to  home 
And  milk  is  all  I  skim. 

Yr  Obt.  Svt. 

PATTY  PRIMROSE. 


43 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


THE  DANDIEST  DAY 

rpHANKSGIVIN'S  jest  the  dandiest  day 
1       Of  all  the  year — 
Cept  Chrismus;  course  that  beats  em  all — 
But  Fourth- July,  that's  lots  uh  fun — 
Say,  aint  it  queer 
Et  when  yuh  stop  to  think,  an  call 
Em  over,  one  by  one, 
Yuh  jest  cant  say 
Which  one  is  the  dandiest  day? 
I  know  what ! — I'm  goin  to  say 
Thanksgivin's  the  dandiest  day 
Et  comes  in  fall. 

But,  then,  in  fall  comes  Hallow-ween — 
Hi !  swellest  time  yuh  ever  seen ! 
Fun? — fudge!  well  you  jest  bet!     We  all 
Go  ringin  bells  an  scarin  folks 
With  tick-tacks — gee — an  up  so  late. 
Pa  said  us  fellers  carries  jokes 
Too  fur.    That's  when  we  snuck  our  gate 
Clean  out  to  Jonses  pastcher.    He 
Says  us  kids  make  heaps  more  noise 
'N  they  did  when  him  an  his  friends  wuz  boys. 
Pa's  easy!    He  says,  "Ay,  gad! 
I  swow,  I  never  wuz  quite  so  bad! 
But,  then,  all  boys  must  have  their  fun." 
Oh,  gee ! 

Hallow-ween's  jim-hun! 
But  think  of  dinner,  me-oh-my, 
On  Thanksgivin !     Yum-yum !     Punkin  pie, 


44 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


An  turkey,  an  nice  cranberry  sauce, 

An  chicken  pie,  an  marmulade, 

An  oyster  soup — ma  makes  it  boss, 

An  cheese,  an  jam,  an  chowcalutt  cake 

The  finest  kind  et's  ever  made — 

An  eat,  an  eat  till  you  most  die, 

An  git  a-nawful  bellie-ache ! 

Then  eat  some  more ;  oh  fudge ! 

You  eat  so  much  you  jest  cant  budge. 

Aint  no  one  et  beats  me,  you  bet. 

Ma  says  she's  pos-itive  I  can 

Eat  more  that  day  an  any  man 

She  ever  see. 

Oh,  gee ! 

When  it's  right  here,  I  say, 

Thanksgivin's  sure  the  dandiest  day. 


45 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


THE  ONE-YEAR-OLD  LADY 

WHERE  is  the  winsome  lady  fair 
Who  is  one  year  old  today? 
***My  sakes,  not  you? 
***  Tut!  have  a  care — 
You're  surely  two.*** 
What's  that  you  say?*** 
***  Just  one  small  year? 
***  Dear  me,  that's  queer. 
You  are  big  and  smart 
Enuff  for  two.*** 
Pardon?**    Yes,  I  do. 
***  That  is  absurd. 
I  have  the  word 
Of  both  your  parents  for  it,  dear. 
I  kno  it  all  by  heart: — 
Each  tiny  ear 
Is  like  a  shell, 
That  has  a  mystic,  magic  spell. 

Your  cheeks  are  dainty,  peach-blow  pink, 

Teeth  like  daisy  petals  white, 

Eyes  the  blue  of  skies  at  night. 

The  flush  of  morning's  on  your  brow, 

On  dimpled  toes  and  paddie  tips; 

A  glint  of  gold  in  lashes  fair, 

The  glow  of  sunlight  in  your  hair — 

You  must  not  think, 

I  do  not  kno. 

No  brooch  of  gold 

I  need  to  hold 

46 


[Bv   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


The  imprint  of  your  precious  face, 

Parental  love  with  cunning  art 

Has  painted  it  within  my  heart. 

***  Yes,  that's  the  case. 

***  Oh,  well, 

You  must  not  care  if  they  do  tell. 

I  know  'tis  true, 

Virginia,  you 

Are  the  sweetest, 

Darlingest,  completest, 

Lovingest,  prettiest, 

Brightest,  dearest,  wittiest, 

Sunniest, 

Honeyest, 

Cutest  and  best — *** 

***  Oh,  you  do  know  the  rest? 


***Oh 

***  So, 


You  have  heard  them  before? 

***  What! 

Not  all  in  one  day? 

***  As  many  as  that? 

I  don't  wonder  you  say 

'Tis  a  terrible  bore.*** 

Oh,  I  see,  something  new — 

Dearie  me,  just  for  you? 

***  Don't  mention*** 

***  'Tis  my  intention 

To  do  it  right  now — 

Put  my  thinking  cap  on  and  see  if  there  maybe 

A  new  love  term  coined  for  our  One-Year-old  Lady. 


47 


[By   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


HIS  PHILOSOPHY 

IF  Santle  Claus  is  Santie  Claus 
And  I  wont  say  he  aint  him,  cause, 
If  I  should  say  it,  dont  you  see, 
And  he's  like  what  he  seems  to  be, 
The  best  old  fellah  in  the  land, 
He  mightent  not  quite  understand 
I  thot  he  was,  till  Cousin  Ned 
Said  Santie's  a  "pertend,"  an  said 
That  him  an  Mary  found  it  out 
A  long,  long  time  ago.     For  bout 
A  year  he's  onto  all  that  stuff 
That  Santie's  nothing  but  a  bluff. 
They  cant  fool  him  with  their  old  jokes, 
He  knos  that  Santie's  just  our  folks. 

Just  cause  Ned's  bigger  some  than  me 
He  thinks  that  I  should  otta  gree 
With  evrything  he  says,  but,  gee, 
That  really,  truly  couldent  be. 
How  could  they  get  that  photygraft 
Of  Santie  shaking  when  he  laft 
Like  a  bowl  of  jelly?    And  how, 
If  he  aint  living,  do  they  kno 
About  his  pack  and  reindeer  sled? 
An,  I'm  just  going  to  tell  old  Ned 
That  he's  all  wrong.     That  stuff  aint  so, 
Santie's  not  just  folks  we  kno. 
I  kno  he's  had  his  pitchers  took, 


48 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 

For  they're  all  in  my  Christmas  book. 
And  I  kno  he's  Him,  cause — aw — cause 
Nobody  looks  like  Santie  Claus. 


49 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUESTJ 


MY  ELECTRICAL  FAN 

OH,  the  soft  whirr  of  my  humming-bird  fan, 
The  breeze  from  its  fairy  wings  blown, 
Like  the  bland  breath  of  Neptune  across  the  dark 

wave, 
When  the  god  of  day  has  gone  down. 

Come  visions  of  youth,  carefree  and  at  ease, 
That  waft  from  its  pinions  aflight — 

The  dear  old  home  place,  with  broad,   stretching 

fields, 
In  the  coolness  and  calm  of  the  night; 

The  low-lying  house  at  the  top  of  the  hill, 
That  the  arms  of  the  big  elm  tree  span; 

The  soft,  swaying  breezes  I  loved  as  a  boy — 
They  come  to  me  now  from  my  fan. 

The  sound  of  the  bee,  as  home  to  the  hive 
With  his  burden  of  honey  he  swings, 

And  the  low,  crooning  lilt  of  the  wind  in  the  pines, 
I  catch  from  my  fan's  rhythmic  wings. 

If  I  must  live  afar  from  the  open-road  way, 
In  the  haunts  of  the  business-tried  man, 

Let  cool  breezes  waft  to  me  visions  of  old 
From  the  swing  of  my  swift  moving  fan. 


50 


[By   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 


SPRING  GETS  ME 

WHOOP-ER  up,  Pe-gas-us,  hi ! 
Spring  is  in  the  air. 
Old  Marm  Trouble's  done  gone  died 

Along  with  Old  Marm  Care. 
Life  is  as  sweet  to  me 

As  honey  in  the  hive. 
Whoop-er  up,  Pe-gas-us,  gee ! 

I'm  glad  I'm  alive. 
Whoop-er  up,  Pe-gas-us,  yip ! 

Spring  is  in  the  air. 
I'm  so  bustin  full  of  happiness 

I  gotta  yell  for  fair. 
I'm  young  and  I'm  strong 

And  there's  ginger  in  my  blood. 
Whoop-er  up,  Pe-gas-us,  gosh ! 

We  gotta  make  good. 
Whoop-er  up,  Pe-gas-us,  yah ! 

I've  stretched  out  my  chest 
Till  my  darn-fool  heart's  near  kickin  off 

The  flowers  on  my  vest. 
Dont  mind  tellin  you,  ol  hoss, 

Love's  wig-wagged  my  code — 
An,  SHE'S  waitin  at  the  Parson's — wow 

Peg,  burn  up  the  road ! 


51 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


A  THANK  YE  MA'AM 

(TO  THE  MA  OF  A  MUSICAL  FAMBLY.) 

WHEN  Vivyun  sings  the  music  rings 
And  eckos  in  my  ears 

For  hours  and  days — right  there  it  stays 
And  tunes  up  all  I  hears. 

And  your  young  Lute  with  that  there  flute, 

He  never  plays  it  wrong, 
But  thin  and  shrill  each  tremblin  trill 

Melts  into  Vivyun's  song. 

Then  yore  old  man  fits  in  the  plan 

And  sings  to  soot  me,  too. 
I  wont  forget  rite  soon,  you  bet, 

That  "Old  Gum-tree  Canoo." 

When  Raff  draws  bow,  so  sweet  and  low, 

Acrost  them  fiddel  strings, 
I  feel  jest  like  my  soul  could  hike 

And  hitch  onto  its  wings. 

And  then  they's  you,  a  helpin  thru, 

And  addin  to  the  sport 
Them  yard  an  yards  of  scrumptious  cords 

On  that  pianyfort. 


52 


[By   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 

Right  on  the  jump  you  make  them  hump 

From  re  veil  e  to  taps — 
Lute,  Vivyun,  Raff,  your  better  half 

And  Billie  with  his  traps. 

At  first  you're  gay  and  then  you  play 

Sad  tunes  that  grip  my  spine, 
And  fore  I  know  it's  time  to  go, 

You're  playing  Old  Lang  Zine. 

And  when  young  Lute  from  that  there  flute 

Shakes  out  that  lonesome  note 
That  wails  and  weeps,  it  gives  me  creeps 

And  gorges  up  my  throat. 

I  want  to  say  when  I  go  way, 

That  "I've  enjoyed  the  chance — " 

But,  shucks !  I  fill  up  like  a  poisoned  pup 
And  growl  "good  night"  in  pants. 


53 


[By  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


THE  DREAMER 

THE  years  are  shorter  now  than  when  a  child 
You  dreamed  your  way  through  them  and  oft 
beguiled 

Your  leisure  hours  with  thots  of  Things  to  Be — 
When  in  two  parts  your  years  you'd  spell — then 
three — 

When  you  should  be  thirteen — and  then  as  old  as 

Twenty-one! 
From  that  vast  sum  you  took  away  the  years  already 

gone — 
To  add  them  to  the  years  to  be  but  made  them  longer 

grow, 
But  eight  away  from  twenty-one  left  ujust  thirteen 

to  go." 

As  years  dragged  slowly  then,  so  after-time  they  flew 
Too  very,  very  soon — the  old  to  greet  the  new. 
Then  came  the  dreamless  time,  the  time  when  you 

looked  back, 

To  grasp  the  scheme  of  life,  along  the  beaten  track. 
The  unknown  way  confronting  youth, 
Became  the  known,  the  dream  the  truth. 
'Twas    not  your    childhood    vision — but    the    years 

came  true, 
The  time  of  which  you'd  dreamed  was  now  a  part 

of  you. 


54 


[BY  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 

And  then  again  you  dreamed — looked  through  to 
the  unknown, 

Eager  to  make  the  untried,  future  years  your  own. 

And  grasping  them,  your   arms   stretched  out  for 
more, 

Praying  that  they  might  come  whate'er  their  store; 

The  incidents  they  held  for  you  of  happiness  or  strife 

Meant    naught — they    were    the    privilege — them 
selves  were  life. 

*      *      * 

The  Dreaming  One  lifts  high  Time's  glass 
To  watch  the  hours  thread  thru, 
Exulting  that  each  grain  must  move 

To  keep  the  rythm  true, 
And  tho  his  hours  he  may  not  count 
He  knows  they  have  their  place — 
That  each  and  every  human  life 
Threads  thru  allotted  space. 


55 


[BY   SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


AUTUMN  SNAP  SHOTS 

(From  Harrisburg  to  Baltimore ) 

An  early  grey  morning  breaking  into  smiles 
Over  the  top  of  a  sleepy  forest. 

A  little,  lean,  old  village  hobbling  along 
The  sluiceway  to  an  old  mill. 

Big,  brown  hills  lying  like  huge,  shaggy  nuts 
On  fertile  meadows. 

A  shiftless  town  sprawling  on  all  fours 
From  ridge  to  ridge  up  a  slatternly  slope. 

Neat,  trim  rugs  of  emerald  green,  spring  wheat, 
Hugged  close  to  Mother  Earth, 
Between  rows  of  ragged,  unkempt  corn  shocks 
With  scrawny  arms  outstretched  as  if  to  beg  for  alms. 

Three  brown  hunters — two  men  and  a  dog — 
Silhouetted  against  the  warm-hued  sky 
At  the  top  of  a  sepia  hill. 

A  fat,  self-satisfied,  old  town,  with  narrow, 

Muddy  roads. 

Rows  of  complacently  shabby  houses 

Face  each  other  across  a  stream 

That,  like  themselves,  has  seen  better  days. 


56 


[By   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 

The  lean,  the  sleek,  the  loud,  the  meek, 

The  calm,  the  flurried,  the  slow,  the  hurried, 

The  cross,  the  happy,  the  sweet,  the  scrappy, 

Preceding  me  along  the  aisle, 

In  answer  to  the  luring  smell, 

And,  "de  fust  call  fo  breakfus  in  de  dinin  cah!" 


57 


[Bv  SPECIAL  REQUEST] 


A  CLIMATIC  CULMINATION 

THE  Flu  it  tackled  Jimmie  Puntz  an  with  him 
hard  it  tussled, 
Thru  ev'ry  muscle,  nerve  and  vein,  an  tooth  an  toe 

it  hustled. 
It  toddled  up  his  spinal  col'm  an  jazzed  around  his 

thorax ; 
It  snitched  his  sense'  of  smell  an  made  his  tongue 

as  dry  as  borax; 
It  opened  up  his  right  tear  duct,  until  that  eye  was 

pourin; 
It  shut  his  left  eye,  swole  his  cheeks  an  set  his  ears 

a  roarin. 
It  closed  his  nasal  passages  an  sagged  his  mouth 

wide  open, 
For  steen  weeks  with  that  tuff  microbe,  the  poor  gink 

was  a  copin. 

v 
Jim's  friends  an  family  agreed  twas  Flue  that  ailded 

Jimmie, 
And  recommended  ev'rything,  from  blue  mass  to  the 

shimmie. 
Some  started  him  with  Swoboda,  then  Bennett  an 

McFadden — 
Positions  curly,  straight,  zigzag — not  one  but  he  felt 

bad  in. 
Then  other  friends  said  "liver  wrong,"  "inharmony" 


"an  error" 


"Try  pinkless  pellets,"  "trust  your  guides,"  "elim 
inate  your  terror." 


58 


[BY   SPECIAL   REQUEST] 

He  allopathed  an  harmonized,  seanced  an  mental 
scienced, 

Took  pills  an  treatments — an  advice — from  Ma's 
to  his  affianced. 

He  homypathied,  ostypathied,  had  a  chiropractor, 

Was  pinched  an  twisted  till  he's  sure  he  hit  a  skid- 
din  tractor. 

He  boiled  in  mud  at  min'ral  springs,  took  baths  in 
tubs  and  spatters, 

Pill  Jimmie  with  that  pesky  gherm  was  almost  wore 
to  tatters. 

Then  Skinny  Jim  went  travelin,  an  kept  a  goin  west 
ward — 

But  never  once  did  Jimmie's  turn  begin  a  growin 
vestward, 

Till  he  struck  California,  when  he  was  well  nigh 
blooey — 

That  place  where  Climate's  born  and  raised,  babe- 
ruthed  that  Flu  gherm  fluey. 


59 


•»*•       •«•••• 


•  '. 


VC  14542 


46278^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


